Gianna Nannini

June 15, 1982. Italy is still completely unaware of the glory that will soon arrive at the World Cup in Spain, which had begun just two days earlier. Meanwhile, the economy is soaring ahead of the fateful moment in 1987 when it would overtake Britain's, while radio stations are warming up for the arrival of "Der Kommissar" by Falco and "Un'estate al mare" by Giuni Russo. All this just weeks before the revolutionary entrance of the compact disc into the record industry.

In some ways, it's a memorable year. Masterpieces spring up one after another: "Bella 'mbriana" by Pino Daniele, "Vado al massimo" by Vasco Rossi, "Titanic" by Francesco De Gregori, and hidden gems like "Il tuffatore" by Flavio Giurato. Amid all this bounty, Gianna Nannini muscles her way in with one of her finest records, certainly the most musically cohesive and, in some respects, the most thematically ambitious: "Latin Lover".

The rock singer-songwriter from Siena had already floored half of Italy with "California" and "G.N.", the former especially thanks to its unforgettable hit "America" and that provocative cover depicting the Statue of Liberty clutching a strictly star-spangled vibrator. A stunt that today would unleash the fury of social media and the fiercest (and sometimes short-sighted) champions of so-called political correctness. But that's another story. In those years, Nannini was at the peak of her powers. What won over audiences and critics alike was above all her innate ability to blend the most genuine Italian character with a willingness to experiment, often quietly, enlisting masters of electronics and rock in opposition such as the German producer Conny Plank. He is the deus ex machina behind "Latin Lover" - the mentor she turned to in order to overhaul Italian-style rock and season it, whenever the moment called for it, with cosmic keyboards and alien sounds.

Plank certainly needs no introduction. In short, he's the Gandalf of kraut-rock and of the most groundbreaking pop music. A few names? Brian Eno, Kraftwerk, David Bowie, Can, Neu!, Eurythmics, DAF, Ultravox. In short, Plank produced and collaborated with an endless string of sacred monsters. His contribution to "Latin Lover" thus marks the beginning of an important partnership for Nannini, and also represents a changing of the guard from blues musician Igor Campaner, who had guided the Tuscan artist through her early steps and who would reunite with her in 1988 for the album "Malafemmina".

From blues to electronics, then. A shift that in some way charts the singer-songwriter's trajectory, one that would reach its peak on the follow-up, "Puzzle", with Plank himself cutting even looser on the synths.

The driving rhythm and guitar flashes of the opening "Primadonna" offer a taste of an album that succeeds at every turn - a work that alternates "unprecedented" instrumental synapses with sudden refrains brimming with joy, liberation and rage. Urges that pour out in torrents, in lines destined to become iconic:

Fai il tuo show, scarica le pistole

E lasciati toccare

Lasciati sfogare

Come una vera star

Tu mi sai a memoria

Mi cuci addosso una storia

Asciugamani e cliché sempre pronti per me sulla tua scrivania

The synth-emulated helicopter and the sparse piano notes, as sweet as a lotus flower drifting down in an Osaka zen garden, form the backdrop for "Wagon-Lits", an existential ballad about time's relentless passing, painted in the colours of a faded photograph snapped at the edge of a train: "Quanto tempo c'è domani/ Che stazione ci sarà/ Sulle lame dei binari/ Il tempo è come un killer".

It's the prelude to the epochal "Ragazzo dell'Europa", the song where the journey stops being figurative and comes to life with visions even more charged with emotion. Snapshots that shoot lightning-fast from the gut to the mouth, giving birth to a narrative as wild as it is poetic ("Tu che fai l'amore selvaggio/ Trovi sempre un passaggio per andare più in là/ Viaggi con quell'aria precaria/ Sembri quasi un poeta dentro i tuoi boulevard"). Words dedicated, incidentally, to a Polish boy the singer actually knew, fleeing a Poland that was oppressive at the time.

The title track, on the other hand, is the album's most boogie, rock and roll moment, with open chords, driving riffs, disillusionments, sketches, photos and weary stories "on the edge of the night". The electric bounce of "Fumetto", with violin cutting through the middle, then acts as a contrast to the romantic "Carillon". A melodic crescendo builds, with Nannini holding back a knot of unresolved passions in her throat.

The breezy stride of "Amore amore", another song with an irresistible, liberating refrain, closing out in the wake of new wave with alien, Adrian Belew-style guitar, warms things up before the curtain finally falls with "Volo 5/4", another indecipherable ballad with a third-world atmosphere and lyrics referencing Olympus, like a dream just ended, remembered only in tattered fragments. Here too the electronics are surgical and never intrusive, recreating the flight of a grieving swallow that has lost its flock and seems almost happy to find itself alone, atop some frozen tree in a grey, bare Düsseldorf that consequently has little in common with the vivid colours of her native Siena and the enchanting countryside surrounding it.

Success arrives in Germany too, and from then on Gianna Nannini will never be the same again. "Latin Lover" is, in fact, the "permanent centre of gravity", to put it in Battiato's terms, of an incredible career full of ideas that broke free of Italian conventions, at least until 1990, the year of magic nights and another home World Cup, lost only because of a goalkeeping blunder. A media-crowned annus mirabilis that would seal her stardom for good, with a helping hand from Giorgio Moroder and Edoardo Bennato, the untameable lioness of Italian rock.

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10/01/2021